


Pass The Note

by Yina_Ke



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Danny is nhf your shit, M/M, Making out in the men's room, Notes during class, Things I will definitely regret in the morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yina_Ke/pseuds/Yina_Ke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There used to be a time when Danny was convinced that Stiles was just being a homophobic asshole by pretending to come on to him with all the subtlety of an amorous hummingbird.</p>
<p>He's not so sure now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pass The Note

**Author's Note:**

> Danny/Jackson is mentioned. I chose not to tag it because I've made the experience that it can be pretty frustrating to surf for your ship and then clicking on fics that have it tagged only to find out that that ship's only really background or mentioned in passing -- like Danny/Jackson is here. But, just letting you know it's there. Non-romantic, though.
> 
> This takes place some time before Motel California.

Danny doesn't like being a straight guy's gay experiment.

Which is to say, he thinks the act itself is pretty damn hot. He likes it when they're surprised by their own reactions, openly awed and nakedly dazzled. The denial's a bit hot, too, the way they don't look at his face when they fuck, the way they're surprised and feel challenged when Danny doesn't treat them passively, the way they're amazed how new things feel, how good they can be. Danny sort of likes inexperienced guys anyway, likes their vigor and verve.

What he doesn't like are the awkward conversations after – and there's _always_ awkward conversations after, full of expectations or else revulsion. They end up hating what they did, or they try to forget it, and either way it's always _Danny_ who's at the brunt of their ire because this is _Beacon Hills_ , and the towns a fucking ball of yarn that's successfully managed to thread everyone's lives together with several knots and bumps along each way.

The only time that sort of thing went well was when Jackson sucked him off when they were fifteen. It hadn't been born out of curiosity so much as the fact that Jackson always wanted to be that guy who was good at anything, could do everything, could have anyone. That was all right, because it wasn't a bad time for anyone involved, what with Jackson stroking his own ego by sucking off a gay guy, and Danny getting an enthusiastic if sloppy blow job that he didn't have the heart to tell Jackson was severely lacking in technique.

They were awkward for about a week after, but then Jackson got over it. Danny knows why: the good thing about Jackson is that he's just that self-absorbed that he doesn't often care about the effects his actions have on other people, and in this instance, it actually worked out well for Danny that what Jackson seemed to take away from it the most was that he must be a gift to gay men for being able to make Danny come within ten minutes.

Danny thought it best not to tell him that good blow jobs lasted about that long, but that great ones lasted longer.

So, halfway-decent Jackson experience aside, Danny's not interested. Which is why, whenever he starts to get those experimentation vibes from other dudes now, he tells them all that they're not his type, even when they are.

Danny doesn't tell Stiles that because Danny doesn't know what the fuck Stiles' deal is.

Case in point:

Danny receives a nudge from behind, pauses on the line he was writing for a moment, and stubbornly ignores it.

Another nudge. A hissed _pssst_. Danny frowns, and focuses on taking notes. They're in calculus class right now, covering the correct integral of the mathematical constant of _e_ , and Stiles has been annoying him for so long that Danny is starting to want to integrate the area below the curve of Stiles' impending aerial path to the wall.

Several of the other students have started shooting them looks by now, and Danny can hear Stiles behind him, trying to get his attention and drumming his heels against the floor. The teacher's not much help; Mr Peterson is damn near blind as it is, and despite his age apparently unwilling to give up his love affair with calculus given the speed of his writing on the blackboard.

Lydia gives them a pointed look. One of her eyebrows is raised. Danny knows her well enough to know that the way that eyebrow raise eventually drops to oversee a dramatic eyeroll means, _Just give him a pity fuck or something._

Danny gives her a soulful look that is meant to encompass several different nihilistic internet memes about the absurdity of life when Stiles says, “ _Hey_ ,” behind him, and Danny fucking gives up.

He turns around to give him a stare. Stiles is half-sprawled across his desk, a piece of paper between his fingers. He gives Danny an awkward grin and presses it into Danny's hand.

Note passing. What are they, twelve? He briefly wonders why the fuck Stiles doesn't just text him during class like any other halfway normal school delinquent before he remembers that of course, he's never given Stilinski his phone number.

Danny opens the paper beneath his desk, and tries to look innocuous when he sends a look down.

 

 It takes Danny a while to decipher Stiles' awful handwriting and determining its message as 'no but seriously we need to talk' and really, Danny's not sure why he's surprised. He heaves the tortured sigh of the eternally damned, raises both eyebrows, and pins Stiles with a look over his shoulder.

 Stiles just continues to windmill his hands. His eyes search for Danny's and zero in on them once they catch them. There's probably at least three entire beats during which Danny and Stiles look at each other from opposite ends of the chasm that is the decidedly dry air of math class, and it's not the first time that Danny notices that Stiles’ eyes are pretty fucking gorgeous.

 That entirely irrelevant observation aside, Danny is just as confused as he was before, but fuck, somehow Stiles always makes Danny give in by sheer tenacity, and _okay_ – so maybe Danny sort of respects a guy who doesn't wither and falter in the face of rejection and just sort of barrels on in mulish wilfullness. Maybe he thinks it's not just annoying as fuck, but also a little bit impressive.

 Stiles' brand of getting attention is a bit like throwing a box against a rock repeatedly instead of intelligently working on the lock, which Danny actually thinks is sort of an antonym to his mathematical personality. Even so, certain boxes  _do_ break if you just hit them with rocks long enough.

 Danny's not going to dwell on that. He sighs, grabs his pen, and scribbles a reply below Stiles' message.

 

It's a lie, but Stiles doesn't know that.

He catches Lydia's eyes from the corners of his vision and turns to look at her. She's tapping a pen against her lower lip and Danny just knows that Lydia is secretly amused.

Danny would probably be more amused himself if he knew how to place Stiles. There used to be a time when Danny was convinced that Stiles was being a homophobic asshole and making fun of him by coming on to him with all the subtlety of an amorous hummingbird, but he's not so sure now.

He unceremoniously turns around, dumps the note on Stiles' desk. He barely has time to attempt to hoist his mental focus back on top of the mountain of integrals when he hears Stiles drumming his palms against his desk again and shuffling his feet, and Danny reaches behind himself to accept the note with a sigh.

 

Danny squints. 'After class in the men's room, k?' he guesses that's supposed to mean. Danny's not sure if Stiles is aware of the implications of that location. Then again, this is _Stiles_ , some part of him probably does.

He rolls his eyes, and scribbles on the paper. He can feel Lydia's eyes on him from across the room.

 

There's an unceremonious tossing of the note onto Stiles' desk before Danny turns back to his note. Which, of course, is followed by another nudge and more, and Danny reaches to accept the answer with what he's pretty sure is by now is just plain resignation.

 

'Can't talk here. Trust me.' 

Danny's not sure why he agrees. Maybe he misses Jackson. He's bored – well, okay, he's not. There's approximately thirteen different pieces of homework he could be doing, and a lot of weights he could be lifting, and he's still planning to go on Skype and see if maybe he can't catch Jackson there, or possibly Ethan.

Whatever the case, Danny ends up just turning around briefly to hiss, “Fine,” and then he turns around fast enough that he's not certain whether or not he really saw Stiles making a fist bump in his peripheral vision. Which, yeah, weird.

When the bell rings, and Mr Peterson finally puts down his piece of chalk and dismisses the class, Danny leaps to his feet and turns around to ask Stiles what this is all about, but only comes to face an empty desk, with the afternoon sun forlornly gleaming on the wood.

Lydia passes by and asks, “Wanna grab something to eat?” and Danny just looks at her and shakes his head and says, “I got asked by Stiles to meet him in the men's room,” and _wow_ , if that doesn't sound even more awkward than it did written down.

Lydia squints. “Can't imagine why.”

But Danny thinks he catches something else on Lydia's face that he can't quite place, something akin to worry, or maybe suspicion, but Danny decides he can only take one person acting strange right now, so he decides not to think about it.

He's gotten a lot of practice at not thinking about weird stuff lately.

 

*

 

To Danny's credit, he doesn't go the men's room right away. First he saunters over to the coffee dispenser to get himself his well-deserved afternoon caffeine fix. Then he checks his phone for messages from Ethan, finds none, and pockets it again. He walks up and down along the corridors for a bit, staring out through the windows at the town, and decides to go check if Stiles has drowned in any of the toilet bowls by now some good five minutes after.

It turns out he has not drowned. He does, however, look a bit bedraggled.

“ _Finally_ ,” Stiles says, and takes a step closer. “I was starting to think you weren't gonna show.”

“I wasn't aware I had a choice,” Danny says, deadpan. “Can I leave now?”

“What – no. Stay. Hey. Hear me out here, man. So.”

Danny sends a glance around the room, basks in the erotically-charged energy provided by the suspiciously caked urinals, and waits.

Stiles sort of fiddles. This isn't unusual, as Danny has decided that he's _always_ sort of fiddling, but he seems a lot less determined now than he did when he was still one tug away from manhandling Danny in order to get his attention.

Danny decides to take pity and prompt him. “So, what did you need to talk about?”

“Okay,” Stiles says, and he's sort of pumping his arms then presses a fist with his other hand as if to work himself up. “So, basically, there's a lot of things I could be saying, and, like, they're all gonna sound pretty cheap-horror-flick-esque, so I'm just gonna say the one thing and it is that you shouldn't be seeing Ethan.”

Danny lets that sink in for a while. “I shouldn't be seeing --” He rolls his eyes. “Give me a break.”

“I am, I _am_ giving you a break,” Stiles says, words sort of falling over themselves. “Look, I'm not trying to tell you who you can or cannot be dating --”

“Damn straight,” Danny says.

“-- I'm not trying to do that, but it's just not a good idea to get too close to him, kind of.” A beat. “Oh, and clever pun, dude.”

Danny crosses his arms over his chest, raises his chin, and gives Stiles another once-over.

Danny's not dating Ethan yet, and nothing has happened between them yet, but Ethan's attracted Danny's curiosity right from the start. He wears his confidence on his sleeve, has a way with puns and quips, and maybe Danny really does have a thing for the bad boys, but he likes Ethan. Appreciates him. Danny used to be Jackson's best friend – no, he still _is_ his best friend, even if Jackson's in London, what is he even thinking – and he's got practice with the alpha type.

He doesn't yet _like_ -like Ethan, but he's on the path that leads there.

So, in all this ridiculousness, Danny can't think of much more to say than the glaringly obvious. “So you're saying I shouldn't be seeing him because...”

“Because --” Stiles licks his lips, and darts a look around, as if scanning for intruders.

Danny's not sure why he does that. What is this, an induction to a secret society?

Stiles seems to find his footing, hypes himself up to say something, but only finished with a, “Because, woof.”

“Woof,” Danny repeats. He says it in the most serious way. Like he's saying, 'democracy.' Or, 'liberation.' “Woof,” he repeats, just to let that _sink in_.

“Hey look – Danny, it's sort of hard to tell you because I'm not telling you about that other thing that I don't think I should be telling you so you're just gonna have to... like, trust me?”

Danny raises an eyebrow to make sure Stiles sees what he thinks of that. “Name me three good reasons why I should trust you.” He looks at his watch. “You have one minute.”

“Dude – what, I don't work well under pressure. Okay, okay, we've known each other for like, _ever_ \--”

“Which all started that one day you crashed your bike into my lawn when we were eleven,” Danny says. “Next.”

“We've played _World of Warcraft_ together,” Stiles says. “Nerd solidarity, eh?”

“You think that's a good argument?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Considering that you spent half the time catcalling me with your secondary level 10 gay elf character?”

“I --” Stiles breaks off. “Wasn't it funny?”

“No.” A pause. “But I guess it's okay since I killed you in PvP a lot.”

“So you'll count that as a reason?”

“Maybe. What else you got?”

“Look,” Stiles says with a long, drawn-out breath, because apparently he's given up on pretending that Danny has ever done more than outwardly tolerate his existence. “You're _nice_ and we think Ethan's not, and we – I – am sorta worried, is all.”

“Are you high?” Danny asks, seriously.

“ _No_ ,” Stiles says, “Do I look high to you?” He leans in, and opens his eyes really wide. “Do these eyes look like glassy stoner eyes to you?"

They do not. Stiles has always had attractive eyes, and as much as Danny would like to say he hasn't noticed, he has. They're large and expressive, and they change color, flashing amber when he's illuminated and soaking to warm brown when he's cast in shadows, and what the hell is Danny even thinking. Stiles has always just been looking for a gay experiment. Danny's not here for that.

“Danny,” Stiles says, and takes a step closer. “I know we haven't always been – all that close.”

“Or even really on speaking terms,” Danny reminds him.

“ _Or even really on speaking terms_ , but seriously, I mean, you just gotta be careful, is all. Look, I haven't even asked anyone if I could tell you, I'm making my own call here. Things would suck if they went badly.”

Danny can't help himself. “Things often suck when things go _very_ well.”

“Shit.” Stiles lets out a startled laugh that opens his throat and snags back his lips. It sounds nervous. “Have you? _Already_?”

“No,” Danny admits. “Though I don't know why I'm telling you this because it's really none of your business.”

“Good,” Stiles says, and he exhales a breath that Danny just now realizes he's been holding. “Good.”

Danny doesn't know what else to say to that, so he falls silent, regarding Stiles across the space between them. Stiles is still fiddling, but there's also something else in his expression, like there's sincerity hiding beneath the cover of tangles nerves that flashes through every once in a while when they shift and turn.

He thinks back to what he thought about earlier: that Stiles' method of trying to get his attention is more like battering at a box with rocks than trying to solve the puzzle that is the inner mechanical workings of its lock. He remembers that he also thought that sometimes, people succeeded with that strategy.

“Stiles.” He can feel just a hint of a smirk playing around his own lips. His eyes travel from Stiles' shoulders down across his torso to his hips and back up again, in a very obvious way, just to test his reactions. To see if he would flinch. If he would curl his upper lip in disgust when shit became real. “Do you like me?”

It's obvious that Stiles wasn't prepared for this question. For a few seconds, he just blinks repeatedly, as if trying to communicate an utter lack of comprehension in Morse code.

Danny has always thought that Stiles' face was unusually expressive. It's like his face is a network, with each of the muscles an independent agent which rise quickly at any emotional stimuli but unfortunately suck at group choreography. There's an almost pained expression, there's shock, there's surprise, a brief flicker of excitement, and then -- 

“I --” And he seems to come to a decision, and he says, “Yes. Yeah, okay. Yeah, I do.”

Danny's not stupid, and Stiles isn't subtle, and he _hears_ the note of uncertainty, sees the way his eyes flick this way and that and anywhere but Danny's eyes, but it's just intriguing enough that Danny takes a step forward. And then another.

Stiles doesn't back off, but Danny sees the tension in his shoulders that reveal that part of him wants to. But he doesn't, and he doesn't still when Danny takes another step closer, and they're as close as they can be without physically touching. 

Looking down at Stiles, Danny sees his lips slightly parted. The sheen of saliva that covers them shines. He's breathing through his mouth, and then his eyes close, and when he opens them, he's looking up and right at Danny.

In his time, Danny has read enough novels to know that one's supposed to be able to read all sorts of emotions from someone's eyes, but personally Danny can't really tell much about how a person might be feeling from their eyes alone unless they're crying.

Stiles isn't crying, but Danny thinks he does see something _hard_ in those eyes.

“Really?” Danny says, keeping his voice deliberately low. They're standing so close together that he thinks Stiles might be feeling Danny's breath break over his mouth.

A tremor seems to go through Stiles and his eyes widen slightly, and Danny promptly decides that yes, he probably can.

“Yeah, well.” Stiles' breathing is erratic. “This wasn't... how I meant for this to go, but like, yeah.”

Danny narrows his eyes at him, tries to look for the lie. “I don't do straight guys.” _Anymore._  

Stiles actually laughs at that, and it's a warm, moist gust against Danny's lips and a hot whisper along his jaw line. It feels nice.

“ _Can_ you do straight guys?” Stiles asks, and there's a nervous tic in his eyes, and along the corners of his lips. “I'd think you couldn't, on account of the straightness.”

Danny shrugs. “Guys are curious. Want to know how they look to others. Ask questions. _Inappropriate_ questions.”

Stiles gets the hint, and has the decency to look apologetic. “Hey. Hey. I didn't mean it like that, well maybe I did at the time, but I didn't in the way you think.”

Too distracted to point out all the contradictions in that sentence, Danny considers. For a good few seconds, while staring into Stiles' eyes and Stiles stares back and they're close enough to kiss, and yeah, that thought sparks the idea, and Danny just decides to go with it.

“'Kay,” Danny says. “So you're not straight, you just have all the social grace of someone raised by wolves. Not sure if that makes it better.”

For some reason, Stiles seems to think that's very amusing, and he chuckles openly against Danny's lips, and he's so close, and – yeah.

Sometimes, not often but sometimes, there are times when Danny does a thing and then stops and wonders why he did that thing. This probably qualifies.

Stiles' laughter dies when Danny kisses him. He can feel a jolt go through Stiles' body, and his hands shoot up and then hang in the air as if he's wavering between clinging to Danny, pushing him away, or miming an impromptu dying swan.

Danny observes all that rather coolly, because he's not about to get heavy into the kiss yet when he hasn't even determined yet if it will freak Stiles out. When Danny's been with straight guys before, even the ones who wanted to take it further, he'd always been able to tell they weren't really attracted to him. Danny just knows.

Stiles places a tentative hand on Danny's shoulder, his lips slacken against Danny's lips – and then all thoughts sort of tumble out of Danny's mind, because Stiles suddenly surges forward, as if he's diving into the kiss, and there's a tongue in Danny's mouth and teeth enthusiastically nipping against him and wow, so okay, Stiles likes kissing, maybe.

Truth be told, on the (rare) occasions that Danny's imagined what it would be like to just press Stiles up against a wall and kiss him, his imagination-Stiles had never been half as aggressive as the real one.

Danny can work with it. 

He reaches up to cup Stiles' jaw, tilts his head backward a bit for a better angle and pushes his tongue past his lips. Stiles makes a sound that Danny can't describe, something far down and low in his throat, but he can feel it reverberate against both their lips. Danny feels like the sound flows into his mouth and swings up right into his head where it muddles and destroys and desecrates and bleaches it all white.

Stiles is responsive, and Danny thinks that's fucking hot. Stiles is excited and passionate and not at all passive; his body shakes against him, his fingers dig into the small of Danny's back, his eyelashes flutter. Danny can feel them against his face, jittery like tiny bird wings.

Instinct takes over, and Danny takes a step forward, and then another, and Stiles is pliant enough to follow each step until his back connects with the wall. Danny runs his fingers along Stiles' jaw, down over his neck to his shoulders, down, down along his arms. Skips over them to touch his waist and lower still, to the front of his jeans.

Stiles is hard, but Danny has expected him to be after that response. He rubs his palm against Stiles' cock and Stiles shudders and gasps. Stiles' tongue becomes limp and lazy, apparently turning his mental focus to his dick, his hips rocking against Danny's palm.

Danny thinks that maybe they're getting somewhere here after all, but he's got no time to process that information because Stiles' hands are at the front of _Danny's_ jeans now, tugging at his belt as if it didn't have a clasp and could just be torn off, and if that isn't a perfect metaphor for their entire mess of a friendship-cum-antagonism, Danny doesn't know what is.

He also doesn't know if using that particular Latin preposition was one of his most insightful mental leaps.

Danny doesn't get to dwell on it, because it's right then and there that a noise cuts through the haze, and Stiles jolts against him, and fuck that was a door, and Danny turns around and sees some boy from their grade standing there. He's gaping. Widely.

“Hi,” Danny says. “You all right there?”

Stiles kicks at the floor in shock, nearly falls onto his ass, and only doesn't because he digs his hands into Danny's arms to keep steady before he sends the guy an awkward salute. “Uh... hey, Tom. How's it going?”

“I –” the guy croaks, then points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I'm just – gonna – use the bathroom on the first floor.”

And he shuts the door and they're alone again, and Stiles is slumped against the wall, his breath a rhythmic staccato, and Danny still has his hand on his cock. Which he removes after a split-second of thought, taking a step back and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Stiles blinks at him. His lips are attractively kiss-bruised and red, and Danny has to stifle the urge to press him back up against the wall and make out with him some more. That would probably end in sex, a set of mutual hand jobs at least, and it's a good thing it doesn't, not yet; there's still some stuff they should sort out first.

There's stuff that Danny, specifically, should be sorting out, too.

His phone buzzes, and Danny wordlessly flips it open to check it. He's half-expecting Ethan, and he really wouldn't know what to say to him (it's not cheating because they're not together yet; at the same time, if he pursues this, it's going to close that door), but it's only Lydia. _'need me to rescue u?'_

Danny types a quick reply ('no thx'), pockets his phone, and looks back at Stiles.

If Stiles didn't look high before, he definitely does now: a delirious grin is splitting his face and turning up the tip of his nose, eyes shining bright and warm, faint blush pulsing beneath his skin. “Awesome,” Stiles intones, voice nearly cracking in the middle. “ _Awesome_.”

Danny holds out his hand and says, “Gimme your phone.”

“What for?” Stiles asks, but obliges, pressing it into Danny's palm.

Quickly typing in his number, he shoves it back at Stiles.

Stiles blinks. “I just scored your number?”

“So you won't have to annoy me with notes during class anymore,” Danny says dryly. “I happen to _like_ calculus. 

“Dude,” Stiles says wondrously. “You're a nerd.” Then he laughs, deep and low and throaty, and in a way that makes his body jerk a bit, and Danny decides it's not such a bad sound.

Which is to say, he's heard better from Stiles, quite recently, but it's still quite nice. “Whatever,” Danny says. “You can always delete it.”

“Are you kidding? Not a chance.” He grins at Danny and runs a hand through his hair. “Wow. Wow.”

Danny thinks that's a pretty summary of the events, and then spares a glance down at his watch. “Gotta go.” He's dropped his school bag to the floor at some point during all this, so he picks it up and turns to go. 

“Whoa,” Stiles says, holding up his hands. “You're leaving? Now?”

“If you haven't noticed,” Danny says neutrally, “this bathroom is not as private as you thought it was.”

“Oh.” Something on Stiles' face falls. “I – yeah. Truth there, man, truth.”

Danny debates with himself for a good few seconds. Weighs the pros and cons. Thinks it over. 

Reasons why he should not be doing this: Stiles is a seriously weird kid, and even if he may have nice eyes and nice dimples, he and his friend and that whole business are not what Danny needs in his life right now. He's got school and a family and friends to look after. Lacrosse. He's just at the end of a string of disappointments, from straight guys who couldn't decide what they wanted to gay guys who knew what they wanted but it wasn't what Danny wanted. He's tired and wary and so not here for drama.

Reasons why he _should_ be doing this: he sort of wants to.

So maybe the math doesn't really work in Stiles' favor, but –

“I should be done with homework by eight.” He shrugs. “Don't wear anything too tacky or my mom will think you're my boyfriend or something when you're still decidedly in the testing stage.”

So Stiles makes a sound that Danny isn't going to try to decipher right now, and Danny just turns around and leaves and walks down the corridor toward the school's exit, and his phone buzzes and it's Stiles who texted him to say 'HELL YEAH' (all in caps, mind), and Danny says, “What the fuck, Mahealani,” when he's already in his car and on his way home.

Danny doesn't like being a straight guy's gay experiment. He really doesn't.

But Stiles is awfully stubborn and Stiles is always there, and Stiles is (probably) (most likely) into him, and maybe he just has to take a leap of faith here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The notes were made on dafont.com. I picked each pretty carefully as how I imagined Stiles and Danny's handwriting would look like, and -- I hope you like it? (my broski dynamite_state on LJ said that Stiles' handwriting looked like a doctor's prescription. I lol'd).
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> So glad I could finally post some Danny/Stiles! They're one of my three otp's for this show, and I'm slowly working on trying to contribute to them all.
> 
> I'm still trying to remember that these are not British characters. I think every time Stiles called Danny 'dude,' I wanted to write 'mate' instead. Which. Would've been enormously awkward, really. So.
> 
> Anyway. Thanks so much for reading, and thanks to those who have read, commented on, and offered kudos for my previous one. ♥


End file.
